Matsch's Law
by HooahSergeant
Summary: A horrible ending is better than endless horrors. Quinn is on the trail of a killer who leaves a particularly gruesome calling card. Futurefic!
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Own not. Profit not. Sue not.

Matsch's Law: A horrible ending is better than endless horrors.

AN: Future fic starring Special Agent Fabray, Broadway Superstar Rachel Berry, and Special Agent Peterson. If you haven't read any of the previous installments, Littlewood's Law in particular, you might be confused...

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><p>Quinn Fabray was not happy.<p>

It was already shaping up to be one of _those_ days and it was only ten in the morning. First she'd woken up alone, an hour before her alarm clock went off, and without the now practically mandatory presence of Rachel in her bed it had been impossible for her to go back to sleep. Then she'd gone to get dressed only to realize that the shirt she'd wanted to wear had shrunk mysteriously and one of her boots was missing. _On top of that_, when she'd picked Ryan up from his apartment his ridiculous dog had jumped on her in an overly exuberant greeting which had caused her to spill coffee on herself. Thus they'd been late to work as she'd had to run back and change her clothes – because SAC* Quinn Fabray was the picture of professionalism, from her steely demeanor to her classy but always work appropriate attire. After all, as she'd once pointed out to Rachel, chasing down criminals in pretty dresses was never going to be an okay idea.

But now, now she was finally at work and the day hadn't gotten any better, in fact it had gotten worse.

_That's it, this is the last straw_! She growled in frustration as she critically eyeballed the communal coffee pot in the break room.

Empty, of course.

"Dirty, rotten, coffee vampires," she seethed and stalked out of the room. "Shulte!"

"Yeah, boss!" The younger agent came bounding around the corner immediately and with surprising grace, considering his size. Quinn stared up at him, sighed, and shook her head. Conrad Shulte reminded her of a giant, affable, Mastiff puppy. Without the slobber. He towered over her but his 'eager-to-please' mentality and sweet, boyish features made him far less threatening. He often made her think of a thicker version of Finn Hudson, though the similarities really stopped past physical appearance. She poked his heavily muscled chest and he bent over closer to her height so she could speak to him without feeling like she was shouting up a mountain.

They'd had that discussion before.

"I have a very important, top secret, urgent mission for you. Seriously, it's life or death here," she whispered conspiratorially. He smirked at her, clearly already knowing where she was going with this. "Come with me."

Obediently he dogged her steps all the way back to her office, but he hesitated just outside the threshold. Quinn didn't like to bring people into her office if she could avoid it. That was _her_ space, her sanctuary, and she didn't want people getting into the habit of coming in and feeling like it was a 'hang-out' space. Not that she wasn't sociable with her colleagues, she was, but her office was sacred.

She smirked to herself as she observed Conrad shifting from one foot to the other, fidgeting with his hands, trying to find some place to look. Taking pity on him she hurried a little bit more and dug into her purse.

"Coffee, black, don't even _think_ about adding anything to it." She told him sternly as she returned to his side and pressed some cash into his meaty paw. "Venti, for the love of all things holy. If you feel a little disgruntled by this task just remember all the lives you're potentially saving."

He laughed then, put at ease by her joke as she'd intended, nodded and bounded off.

Quinn pursed her lips and let her hands fall to her hips as she looked up at the ceiling to consult the heavens. _Dear god, all I'm asking is that you grant me the patience to get through this day!_ She marched back into her office and closed the door firmly behind her. It was glass so it wasn't like she was going to gain much privacy by the act, but she always did like the door closed. Her office was pretty much a human fish tank, but closing the door made her feel more secluded… and she could turn up her music while avoiding the noise pollution from the other bustling agents in the bullpen. Scratching absently at her cheek she fell into her chair and eyed the folder on her desk warily.

Crime scene photos were never her favorite.

She tilted her head until she heard her neck crack, then scooped up the folder and with a deep breath opened it.

They weren't anything new to her. Violence, death, spilt blood, torn flesh, and tears – lots of tears. It had become her world years ago and while seeing things of that nature would always twist her gut, she was sadly used to it now. She no longer heard the screams of the victims in her head.

"What are you saying?" She asked the nameless being responsible for the twisted, tortured, images she saw. The family photo gave her pause – and that happened more than she'd ever care to admit. The familiar squeeze in her chest stalled her as she looked at the toothless grin of a blonde haired baby.

A knock sounded on her door and pulled her up from the gore she was drowning in.

"What?" She called tiredly, unable to pry her eyes away from the baby in the photo.

"Qball."

She looked up at the nickname and waved Ryan into her inner sanctum. He shuffled in, appearing just as tired and rumpled as she felt.

"You have the Moore crime scene photos?"

With a grimace she held the folder in her hands aloft. He winced in chorus with her and dropped into the chair in front of her desk. His long hands scrubbed over his face and for a moment there were no other sounds than that of his skin rubbing together. Hazy blue eyes finally caught on hers and his hands stopped their movement and he shook his head once. She understood his non-verbal communication, she always did, and nodded slowly to let him know she was right there with him.

"We've got to catch him, Q," Ryan said, breaking their full silence. "I don't know about you but, God, I can't sleep."

Quinn opened the folder back up, pulled free each grisly photo, and started arranging them on her desk. Reconstructing the crime scene as best she could. "I know. I've seen all kinds of things doing this job. We both have. Things I can't get out of my head no matter how hard I try – and this is still one of the worst." She tapped a photo with one slender French tipped finger. "This is the part that I keep coming back to. I keep wondering what he's trying to tell us."

"He's mutilating them – I've seen fatal animal attacks that don't look half as bad as these." Ryan leaned forward wearily and spun the picture around so it was right side up for him. "Eyes torn out, 'sinner' carved all over the body. Quinn he turns them into _jack-o-lanterns_. What part of this makes sense to you?"

"I don't know. I just can't stop thinking _why_ 'sinner'?" Quinn mused and settled her chin onto her palm. "The Moore's were squeaky clean, just like the others. Nothing at all that points to an obvious answer for that word. This isn't like 'Seven' or something ridiculous. He's calling these people out, but for what?"

"I don't know Quinn, but I wouldn't dig too deep in this creeps head. Who knows what he's talking about, he could just be crazy."

"No, there's something there, Ryan. I know there is." She drummed her fingers against her cheek, then closed her eyes.

Some days it was like the weight of the world was actually on her shoulders.

"Hey, so I was thinking – this case is beating us up, do you want to hit Murphy's with me later? We can have a pitcher… or four, and talk about something not work related for a couple of hours."

Her eyes felt like they were full of sand when she forced them back open, "I'm not sure that's a great idea."

"Yeah it is, I can see it in your face. You should bring Rachel." He slid his hand over the desk and gently squeezed the fingers on her free hand. "Just let it go for one night, give that high powered brain of yours a rest before you blow a circuit or whatever it is Terminators run on."

Sighing through her nose Quinn looked him in the eye, finding his bloodshot just like she knew hers to be. "Alright, but not too much or too late either. It would be my luck that we get called out tonight after getting trashed with you."

"That's never happened," he scoffed. She tapped her nose and knocked on her desk, which made him smile.

"Agent Fabray?"

Both senior agents turned to the door to see Conrad standing there with a sheepish grin and a large cup of what Quinn fervently hoped to be molten hot coffee. Ryan quirked an eyebrow at her and smirked. "Oh yeah, I see how it is. Turning us all into slaves now are you?"

"Shut up, Marine," she snarled sweetly and waved the younger man forward. He didn't even glance at the pictures on her desk when he handed her the coffee and she had to admire his restraint. Ever nosey, she knew she would have looked and instantly regretted the action were she in his shoes. "Read the nameplate on my desk, Ryan, what's it say?"

"Special Agent _in Charge_ Quinn Fabray," Ryan snickered.

"Damn straight," she snarked back at him.

"Aye, aye, Cap'n," he sneered.

Conrad stood mostly still during the entire exchange, back to his quiet shifting from giant foot to giant foot, staring at the poster above her chair like it was the most fascinating thing he'd ever seen. "Thank you, Shulte, I really appreciate it."

"Resistance is futile," he shrugged and quickly exited her office amidst Ryan's laughter.

"Murphy's, tonight, bring your diva of a girlfriend, we'll talk more closer to the end of the day," Ryan said and stood. She tilted her head to look up at him as he paused. "Quinn? Don't stare at these all day."

She smiled to let him know she wouldn't (she would) and tracked his footsteps as he left. The second he was out of sight she pulled her cell phone out and dialed her favorite number from memory.

"Quinn!"

A genuine smile cracked her sleepy face at the cheerful greeting. "Hey Superstar," she said softly and leaned back in her chair, unable to focus on death when Rachel was talking to her.

"You have _perfect_ timing, it's kind of creepy how you always manage to call at exactly the right time." Her voice was chipper, as always, and it was like a salve on a nasty sunburn to Quinn. She felt herself relaxing back into the seat at just the sound, one hand holding the phone tightly to her ear while the other rubbed soothing circles at her temple. "What's going on? Are we still meeting for lunch?"

"Yeah, of course we are. I can't wait to see you," she murmured. "You have no idea how much, Rach. This has not been my best day ever."

"Poor baby," Rachel cooed across the line and Quinn felt herself melting. "Are you going to eat another one of those gross hotdogs? I'm not sure I can witness that again. I'd be happy to bring you something healthier if you'd like? Your job is physically demanding, Quinn, you need to make sure you're eating right. Perhaps that's why you've been having a rough day?"

Rolling her eyes and shaking her head Quinn chuckled, "I'm not eating a hotdog for lunch. I brought my favorite soup – and I don't eat from street vendor's all the time, promise."

"What is your favorite soup?"

"Alphabet soup. Preferably Annie's Alphabet soup," she replied. Her mouth watered at the thought alone. There were few things that made her world as right as a big bowl of alphabet soup.

"I am unfamiliar with that, but it sounds like something you would like," Rachel giggled.

"I'm sure I should be mildly offended at whatever it is that you're implying." Sighing she brought her hand over from massaging her temple to pinch the bridge of her nose. "But I'm not. It's too good to hear your voice for me to even pretend otherwise."

"Aw, Quinn."

"Actually I was calling to see…" She paused as she caught a sudden flurry of movement outside her office. Ryan came at a jog up to her door, stopped when he saw her on the phone, but his eyes said it all. "Rachel, I have to go, but Ryan wanted to know if you and I could meet him for drinks later to kind of decompress. Would that work for you?"

"I – yes, drinks, decompress, Ryan. I think I got all that. I'll meet you at your apartment?"

"Sounds good, and Rachel – I don't know what's going on right now but I may not be able to meet for lunch after all." Quinn stood up and swiftly tucked all the photos back into their folder, clipped her shield to her belt and swung her neatly tailored jacket back on. "I have to go though, I'll text about lunch and call you about going out tonight, alright?"

"Okay, stay safe."

Every time Rachel said it, it never failed to make her smile. For just that one precious second she felt so loved and her mouth softened into what Ryan called her 'dopey for Berry' smile. She clutched the phone just a little tighter. "I will."

They never said goodbye. Ever. So, Quinn regretfully hit the disconnect button. Then, she rushed out the door, Ryan at her side filling her in as they hurried towards the elevator. She listened closely to the lurid details he was giving her and couldn't help but think that after this, drinks with Rachel would be a bit like heaven.

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><p>TBC...<p>

*SAC - Special Agent in Charge


	2. Chapter 2

AN: Thank you all for the amazing reviews, your kind words make my days so much brighter! For those who have asked, I haven't really been posting in any sort of timeline. I suppose when I get all of them published I could figure out the order - as it is you don't really have to read them in order, just Littlewood's Law first as it's clearly the beginning of the 'series'.

Here's the second part, I hope you enjoy it!

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><p>The earlier mad rush out of the office to follow a lead had ended in a bust. No killer caught, no new leads, no further forward movement. It was both frustrating and wholly depressing. Now though, with her hand snugly wrapped around Rachel's dainty fingers as they walked towards Murphy's, Quinn felt lighter than she had all day. It didn't stop her though, from noting the tension mounting in the smaller body glued to her side.<p>

"Quinn, I'm nervous," Rachel admitted as they walked together down the street. At first, when Quinn had called and asked about going out, she'd been excited, but as they neared their destination she found herself more than a little apprehensive. This would be the first time the diva had been around any of Quinn's colleagues in a social setting, and it was the blondes partner they were meeting. Not just anyone, but Ryan Peterson – the best friend. She couldn't afford to mess up in his presence, as the only man in Quinn's life, he was the closest thing to a big brother she had. Rachel needed his approval. Even if her girlfriend would scoff at the idea, the brunette had to have his blessing. "I haven't spent any time around your colleagues, and Ryan's your best friend. So…"

Gripping Quinn's hand a little tighter she looked up and found a small, content, smile on the agent's lips. Clearly she wasn't worried about this outing of theirs and somewhere deep inside herself, Rachel realized she shouldn't be either. She couldn't seem to help it though.

"You'll be fine," the blonde assured her and squeezed their entangled fingers. "Hasn't anyone ever told you that you're magic?"

Baffled at the sudden shift in conversation and the odd turn it had taken, she shook her head. "Magic? Uh no – well maybe that my voice is 'magical', but I don't think that's what you're saying."

Quinn pulled them to a stop at a crosswalk and smiled down at her so earnestly that Rachel had to look away, ducking her head to hide against the taller woman's shoulder. When Quinn looked at her like that, which she did quite often, she certainly felt magical. Special – but in a way that was so different from anything else, even the way she felt on stage. Somehow it was better; the bright lights Rachel craved paled in comparison. Nothing would ever be able to compete with the rush she got from the way Quinn would stare at her, as if she were the only thing in the world that the blonde could see. Her own constant spotlight.

"I have had the worst day," Quinn began, tilting the diva's chin up to see her face. She pointed a finger between them, drawing her attention to their joined hands. "All you ever have to do is hold my hand and poof, it's all better. How simple is that? To hold someone's hand? Which brought me to my conclusion –  
>you're magic, Superstar."<p>

If someone had told Rachel that she'd one day be dating Quinn Fabray, she'd have laughed out loud right in their face. Yet there she was, leaning her tomato colored face into her former nemesis' chest with a dopey, lovesick smile curling her lips. Blushing because of something undeniably sweet and unexpected the blonde had said to her – things she was constantly saying. Rachel was fairly certain her cheeks were permanently stained pink from the words her girlfriend poured into her ears on a regular basis. The blonde stooped slightly to steal a kiss and then they were moving again, stuck together with the diva's arms wrapped tightly around the other woman's waist, refusing to relinquish the contact. "Now I know how tired you are. You're delusional, spouting off about magic and talking in those long, random, romantic speeches again. I'm seduced already, you don't have to keep trying to sweep me off my feet."

"Well, I definitely don't want to hear about long, random speeches from you, Rachel Berry. You are the gold medalist in the category of lengthy rambles." Quinn rolled her eyes, but smiled as she held the door open for Rachel.

Her anxiety jumped back to the forefront of her thoughts, causing her to latch back on to her girlfriends arm. Murphy's was just another bar, not as crowded as some she'd been in before, but the layout seemed to be the same wherever she went. The long wooden counter with barstools and the couple of suit clad men practically laying on top of it, cuddling glasses instead of lovers. Booths lined the perimeter, though most were empty, their bright orange cushions had the deceptive look of comfort, but Rachel already knew better. The walls drew her attention, instead of the usual neon lights of Budweiser signs there were framed newspaper articles about NYPD, NYFD, and even some about FBI cases. It was then that it dawned on her – she was in a real life cop bar! Enchanted by the idea, she made another visual scan of the bar, trying to memorize every detail to tell her father's about later, when she caught a glimpse of someone familiar.

You didn't forget a face like Ryan Peterson's. He sauntered towards them, all broad shoulders and cocky smirk, his blue eyes striking her just as hard as they had the first time she met him. He reminded her a bit of Noah Puckerman, a bad boy wannabe with a heart of gold. Trouble was written all over his scruffy features, but she had no doubt that were she ever in any kind of mess, she'd want him there. Remembering herself, she lifted a hand and waved shyly at him and he grinned his charming, glaringly  
>white smile at her.<p>

"Q, you made it," he greeted and then dropped his full attention down on Rachel. She squirmed and had to fight back the urge to hide behind Quinn and peek around her like a bashful five year old.

Always tuned into her girlfriend so well, Quinn attempted to break the awkwardness she felt rising and invading the air around them. "Rachel Berry, Ryan Peterson. Ryan? Rachel." She introduced and arched an eyebrow down at the tiny brunette plastered to her side.

A challenge.

Rachel realized she couldn't choke now, it meant too much to Quinn for her to get along with her partner, even if she never said it out loud. She sucked in a deep breath and tried to find her stage presence, her courage. He wasn't that scary, after all. Just another attractive man like the many others that came and went in her life. Besides, she was Rachel Berry, the Rachel Berry – charming Broadway star.

She could so do this.

Tossing her long raven hair over her shoulder with a confident flip, she exhaled, grinned playfully, and went for it. "I don't know why she thinks she needs to introduce us; I told her we've met before." She softened her smile and held out her hand to shake his much larger one. "She seems to be forgetting things in her old age."

Quinn gaped at her, while Ryan stared at her like she was the damn Holy Grail and he'd _finally_found her. He barked out a laugh, looped an arm around her shoulders and dragged her away from Quinn and towards the nearby booths. She squeaked in surprise, immediately enveloped in his body warmth and the light smell of his cologne. Her feet tangled together briefly and she stumbled as she tried to keep up with his much longer stride. He noticed and slowed, much to her surprise. A gentleman to boot.

"Oh my God, Quinn, you can keep this one," he called over his shoulder approvingly.

"Gee, thanks for the permission, _Dad_."

Relieved at having accomplished the mission she had set for herself, Rachel stopped worrying about Ryan and chewed her lip as she considered what she'd said to Quinn instead. They slid into a booth and Ryan shot off towards the bar, scratching at his fashionable stubble and muttering something about 'test numero dos' under his breath. The diva contemplated her fingers, watching them tangle and slide together and then come undone over and over like they were the most fascinating thing she'd ever seen. Quinn's pale hand appeared in her line of sight and warmly covered her fidgeting digits. Rachel stilled at the contact and reminded herself to breathe as she locked sheepish brown eyes on cool hazel-green.

"Rachel, relax, please. You're allowed to be yourself, you know. I'm not even remotely offended by jokes at my expense. Though you may want to note that I'm only a few months older than you – you're fine," the blonde soothed. "I'm not that cheerleader anymore, and I wish you could see that."

"I know you're not," Rachel hastily agreed, flipping her hand over so she could play with Quinn's fingers and watch her tan skin clash against pale. "I'm not used to this. I feel like a fish out of water – completely out of my element. What if I say the wrong thing? My brain to mouth filter is still broken."

"Your 'filter' is fine," Quinn chuckled and shook her head, sending little waves through her silky blonde hair. "Don't worry so much; you're over-thinking. Ryan and I tease each other constantly; you'll be absolutely fine. You're a natural with people, Superstar. It's only when you stop and question things that you stumble. Don't sell yourself short, just be Rachel, and watch how quickly Ryan becomes your new best friend."

"_You're _my best friend," Rachel declared, drowning herself in those sparkling hazel-greens and smiled. The moment was broken when Ryan set down three shot glasses, loudly, on the table.

"Hey, none of that," he scolded and slipped in beside the brunette, easily and smoothly wrapping a muscular arm around her before she realized his intent. "Quinn making goo-goo eyes is weird. Normally, she just scowls and makes little animal grunty type noises."

He winked at her and Rachel laughed at the accurate description.

"What happened to 'a pitcher or four'?" Quinn yelped, pointedly ignoring the snickering going on across the table. "Ryan! This is tequila."

"Yes, and good tequila at that, Qball." He lifted a shot glass and shoved the next nearest one over towards Rachel. "Bottom's up, you two."

"No limes?" Rachel hesitated, fingers curled around the cool glass. The strong smell of hard alcohol was already burning her nose. She eyed the clear liquid. It looked so innocent, like the barest sip of water, luring her in with its placid camouflage.

"Limes are for pansies," her girlfriend said, then blinked in surprise – having answered automatically.

"Truth," Ryan nodded and knocked his glass against both of theirs before saying, "Na zdravje!" and tossing the shot down his throat without even a wince. Quinn followed closely behind, and not one to be left out, Rachel quickly lifted hers to her mouth. It burned all the way down and even her nose stung, but she refused to cough or choke in front of the two agents. Her tongue begged for the chaser it was being denied and she had to shake her head. No salt, no lime, and from the aftertaste, it certainly wasn't the world's smoothest brand of tequila. They weren't playing around. When she opened her eyes, she found Ryan studying her intently, waiting for her to crack no doubt, and Quinn with that infamous raised eyebrow.

"Piece of cake," she husked with all the false bravado she could muster.

Clearly pleased, Ryan slapped her on the back and jumped up from the booth again. "Right, now for the pitchers, Q."

Rachel frowned up at him, "It has been my experience that mixing hard liquor with beer is an incredibly bad idea."

"Relax, we're professionals." He waved a dismissive hand and headed back to the bar.

The brunette shot an incredulous glance at the quietly smirking blonde across from her. "This is a test, isn't it?"

"If I said 'no' would you feel better?"

Rachel groaned at the confirmation. "No – I just like to be informed. Is the drinking the test or is he just trying to loosen my tongue?"

Quinn wrinkled her nose as she pondered the question. "Both, I think."

"Perfect," she groused and dropped her head into her hands. "Are we still going shooting tomorrow?"

"That is the plan."

"Don't let me get too drunk, I really want to go and something tells me guns and hangovers aren't the best combination," she sighed. Her face already felt hot and she'd only taken one shot - if that was just a taste of what was coming her way it was going to be a long night...

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><p>"… then bam! There she was, in all her glory, my little blonde cheerleader Quinn Fabray. She rips open her door and comes <em>flying<em>out of her room in Batman boxers and some grungy gray t-shirt, hair all over her face, holding her gun. Meanwhile, having predicted this reaction, I stepped clear and watched her charge past and fall flat on her face in the mud. Oh, and yes, there are pictures."

"That's awful!" Rachel crowed, laughing so hard it completely belied her comment. Her stomach and face ached from all the laughing she'd been doing. Quinn, who had moved to sit beside her girlfriend, could only roll her eyes and upturn her nearly full glass of beer into her mouth. The diva tried to drink her own but ended up sputtering out the beverage as she caught the hot glare and mock look of terror being passed between the partners. Finally, Quinn shook her head, flipped Ryan off, and smiled down at Rachel. Her laughter slowly sloping off into a halt, the brunette beamed up at her and cuddled closer into the other woman's side, much happier to be pressed into her than Ryan. Not that there was anything wrong with him, she liked him very much, she'd decided, but he definitely wasn't Quinn.

And she hated the smell of cologne.

Rachel lifted her drink, ready to try that whole 'sipping' business again, but paused thoughtfully before taking it. "Quinn, what is it with you and Batman anyway?"

"Hm?" Quinn narrowed her eyes at Ryan when it looked like he was about to comment.

"Batman – you have a poster of him in your office, and I have personally seen those boxer shorts Ryan was talking about."

The bar staff appeared (having grown tired of Ryan's presence at the counter, apparently) and set down three more shot glasses on which Ryan and Rachel happily pounced.

"Wait!" Ryan yelped and gestured at his fellow brunette with the shot glass, slopping only a little of the content onto his fingers. "Here's to tiny divas who drink their tequila like water!"

Rachel beamed at the praise for her drinking prowess and let the lip of her glass knock against his with the small clinking sound of bonding. She knocked it back like a pro and found Quinn staring at her when she set it back on the table, bottom up. The blonde's shot glass sat untouched and she made no move to grab it as she watched Rachel with something akin to puzzled amusement on her face.

"What?"

"Nothing, I'm just remembering a certain petite diva shouting 'it tastes like pink!' and getting completely hammered in about three minutes flat."

Shrugging one slender shoulder, Rachel reached over and snagged up the neglected shot, tossing it back to join its friend. "I got more practice in college than I ever want to think about again. Now tell me about Batman!"

A smart smirk tugged at Quinn's pink lips, she rolled her eyes skywards and tapped a single finger to her chin. "Real name's Bruce Wayne, he lost his parents tragically at an early age, they died right –"

"I mean, why you like him so much, smart ass," Rachel interrupted and lightly dug her elbow into the other woman's side.

Quinn sighed and sat back against the lousy bench cushion. Her arm snuck back around Rachel's shoulders and pulled her tightly into her. "Alright, but not a word from the peanut gallery." She pointed an accusing finger at Ryan who held his hands up in the classic 'who, me?' expression.

"I like Batman the best out of all the super heroes because of all of them he's the only one I could ever see as being real. Batman is just a man trying to do the right thing because someone has to, so why not him? He has the means to make a change, so he takes action, despite the personal costs to him. It doesn't matter what story line you follow either. A man who could have anything in the world, be anything, and he chooses the lonely life of a hated hero. I love that quote from Batman Begins, 'it's not who I am underneath, it's what I do that defines me'.

"That's my favorite movie, actually, and where the poster comes from. Batman and I sort of just fit together. I have that poster in my office because it's Batman looking down on Gotham and he looks so weary, like the weight of the whole world is pressing down on him and despite that, he's still up there, keeping watch even though he doesn't have to. I feel like that, a lot, but Batman keeps going no matter how heavy the load because somebody's got to and I figure if a fictional character can do that, then I'll be damned if I can't in my own way."

Rachel stared up at her and discreetly sat on her hands because she felt if she didn't, she would grab hold of Quinn and never let her go again. The blonde shrugged and refilled her beer nonchalantly, pretending she didn't notice the absolute adoration practically radiating off of the diva.

"Next, you should ask her about Darth Vader," Ryan hinted with a impish gleam in his eyes, breaking the silence.

"Darth Vader?"

"The one and only," he replied casually.

"Ryan," Quinn groaned and tossed a napkin at him. "Quit trying to scare her off by telling her of all my nerdiness! God, save me some mystery!"

"Darth Vader. Dark Lord of the Sith, Star Wars Darth Vader?" Rachel repeated, still trying to figure out how exactly the puzzle of a woman next to her had come to be. The Quinn she remembered was pretty much gone. She knew that, having discovered that joyous fact again and again, over time spent with her Quinn. But every now and then, something smacked against her that was so drastically different from everything she thought she knew of the stoic blonde and it caused a full system meltdown. "I think my motherboard just crashed."

"Oh God," Quinn dropped her forehead into her palm. "Rachel, do you even know what a motherboard is?"

"Wait, Quinn! You have to explain _this_ – first super hero love, which was already so bizarre, but Star Wars now? No. How do you even know who Darth Vader is? Were you abducted by aliens after High School and returned shortly after I ran into you? Are you a pod person? When did you become so interested and invested in things that aren't cheerleading and, I don't know, _girly_stuff?" Rachel cried, hands flying as she wildly gesticulated, utterly mystified.

Quinn slumped and Ryan laughed heartily into his beer.

"I think I would give just about anything to know what you were like in High School first hand," he said.

His partner rolled her head back and forth against her palm with a moan, "Rachel, I've always liked super heroes and science fiction. Always. My parents just didn't want their 'little girl' being into things they didn't consider proper for young ladies. You know the reason I wore dresses and never jeans? My Dad said I couldn't wear them except on Saturdays because it wasn't appropriate attire for girls! I mean, I was definitely in the closet in more ways than one. You probably didn't even know that I played X-box and PlayStation with Finn and Puck."

Rachel's mouth fell open. "You – huh – what?"

Sighing, Quinn reached over and gently slipped soft fingers under the brunette's jaw and lifted it back against its counterpart. "Rachel, I'm just really not the girl you thought I was and I know I'm definitely not the – "

Rachel cut her off again, this time by surging upwards sharply and catching her bottom lip firmly between hers. Quinn blinked in surprise, but almost instantly melted into the kiss. She had to fight against herself and Rachel's demanding mouth to keep it from turning into more than she wanted it to in a crowded bar. As much as she wanted to lose herself and completely give in, she was also very aware of their audience and the show they were giving him. She tried to lean back, away from her girlfriend's prying tongue but Rachel followed her, caught her jacket and yanked her back in. A shiver danced up her spine at the insistent way the brunette was kissing her, she allowed herself a small acquiescence, lifting a hand to cradle Rachel's cheek as she finally returned the fervor. Somehow Rachel sank even further into her, neck craned up, body flush against the blondes, lips sliding hotly, tongue curling deliciously.

Ryan pouted at them, but he was secretly cheering Rachel on – it had been too long since he'd seen Quinn so taken with someone. His partner was a very private person, and he'd only seen her indulge in PDA on one other occasion. Even then, it hadn't been anything like he was witnessing at that moment. He almost needed a fan just seeing them together. The best part was, as far as he could tell, Rachel was completely overriding Quinn's inhibitions, something she needed. He hated to stop them, but he figured if he didn't they'd have to get a hose… "Ew, kissing!" he whined petulantly, and tossed a handful of peanuts at them.

Quinn pulled away from Rachel with a laugh, mouth vibrantly red and cheeks flushed, while the diminutive diva glared fierce daggers over at him.

"You seriously just lost major brownie points with me," she huffed.

"Hey, pardon me if I don't want to watch you play tonsil hockey with my best friend. She's practically my sister, you know," he shot back, but softened it with a wink.

Quinn snorted and dropped a kiss to the top of Rachel's dark-haired head. "You're just jealous."

"Yeah, I'm the only one at this table not getting laid tonight!"

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><p>TBC...<p> 


	3. Chapter 3

AN: Again, I can't thank you guys enough for the reviews. They really do make my day! I hope you all enjoy part three :)

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><p>Quinn woke with a shuddery gasp, eyes flashing open into the dark gloom of her bedroom. She twisted her head to get a glimpse of her bedside clock and groaned quietly at the numbers glaring out at her. Despite the alcohol swimming in her system and the warm body in her arms, she'd found no safe haven in her bed, waking every hour since she first tried to fall asleep. Every time she closed her eyes and turned her attention towards sleep her mind started working feverishly over the evidence files she'd soaked in all day.<p>

Vivid images of gory, empty, eyesockets and human heads turned into Halloween decorations had danced behind her tightly closed eyelids. Over and over one word echoed, clamoring in her head like a church bell in a belfry: 'Sinner'. This time she could hear it as her father's voice, could picture him pointing one long accusing finger at her while his cold blue eyes dug into her soul. Shivering, Quinn wiped the back of her hand over her mouth and wondered if she'd ever really get away from Russell Fabray.

The little diva slumbering against her chest snorted and stirred lightly, drawing her attention away from the ceiling and her contemplation of patricide. Quinn smiled lopsidedly and returned her hands to Rachel's skin, exulting in the smooth back and lean muscles under her fingertips.

Rachel's sleep habits were some of the most amusing she'd ever witnessed. She would talk in her sleep, of course, always trying to get that last word in – or sometimes twitch like a dog chasing imaginary dream bunnies. The agent always wanted to know what it was that Rachel Berry chased in her sleep. _Probably Tony awards and Barbra Streisand_, she thought, fondly tracing the line of her girlfriend's spine. On occasion Rachel would even open her eyes, still completely lost in Broadway dreamland, and blink owlishly at her before dropping back into an even heavier sleep. Quinn's favorite though, and she'd only done it once so far, was the time the diva had started singing nonsense words to the tune of Sara Bareilles 'Love Song'. She only wished she'd had a camera handy to record that special live performance. Rachel didn't remember any of it the next morning, she never did, which just made it all the more endearing and hilarious to Quinn.

Sighing at the realization that she wouldn't be going back to sleep any time soon, the blonde cautiously pulled the heavy blankets away from their tangled bodies to try and figure a way to wiggle out from under Rachel. The diva grumbled and wrinkled her nose adorably as cool air flooded over them, her tiny fists flexed possessively against Quinn's ribs. Pondering her predicament, Quinn decided to take a risk, she reached down and wrapped her hand around her girlfriend's petite wrist. "Hey, I need to get up," she whispered.

"Starfish," Rachel intoned seriously, and rolled away with a small disgruntled huff.

Snickering behind her palm, the agent slipped free from her bed and blindly fished some sleep wear out of her dresser. Less chilled now, she stumbled out into the living room, scratching at her stomach absentmindedly and smothering a yawn. It only figured that the moment she extracted herself from her bed and the woman in it that she'd feel sleepy again. But her mind was still actively tossing and turning with thoughts of bodies and 'sin', so she shuffled over to her desk and opened her laptop. The bright screen blinded her briefly, but her eyes swiftly adjusted to the glare. She opened up her web browser and typed S-I-N into the search. Her eyebrows jumped to her hairline as she took in all the links offered. "Alright," she breathed and clicked on the first one.

Wikipedia, the Catholic Encyclopedia, Merriam-Webster, she read and read and read. At some point she had even pulled out a notepad and started scribbling down notes, ignoring the burning in her eyes as she squinted at the text.

"Quinn?"

The blonde jerked and yelped, her knees slamming up into the bottom of the desk and shooting pain down her shins. Hissing at the uncomfortable tingling sensation she rubbed at her abused knees and glared over at her ninja of a girlfriend.

"Sorry," Rachel apologized. "What are you doing out here?"

"I couldn't sleep," she confessed. Groggily, Rachel crossed the room and braced her hand on the back of the blondes chair, peering down at the laptop screen.

"Work?"

Quinn nodded and leaned her head against Rachel's firm stomach, inhaling the smell of fabric softener and Rachel. She closed her eyes blissfully as the diva's nimble fingers slipped through her hair and massaged at her scalp. "Hm, that feels good."

Rachel smiled drowsily and scraped her nails gently against her girlfriends pale neck, delighting in the little shiver it earned her. Her eyes were drawn back to the glow of the computer screen. "Sin?"

"He keeps…" the blonde fumbled, unsure of how to discuss this without scaring Rachel or divulging too much. She knew she was on a case, a particularly gruesome case, but she didn't want to give more detail than she already had. "_Leaving_ the word 'sinner' at the crime scenes. Over and over. It's been bothering me, I can't figure out what it means."

"And Wikipedia has the answer?"

"Google knows all," she joked and pressed her fingers to her eyelids. "But so far it's failed me, I haven't learned anything new or gained any insight into this guy's motives."

Above her, Rachel rocked her head from side to side as she mulled over all the connotations she could gleam from the word. Sighing softly, she looped her arms around Quinn's neck and leaned down to rest her chin on top of the blonde's head. "You think he's calling his victims sinners and that something they've done caused him to do – to kill them? Like he's punishing them for their sins?"

"That's what we've been thinking, yeah, but I can't find anything that backs up that theory. These were good people, Rach. I probably won't know until I catch the son of a bitch, but it could just be he thinks God is telling him to murder them. It wouldn't be the first time that's happened."

"Maybe he's calling himself the sinner? Thou shalt not kill is kind of a big one," Rachel guessed, lazily smoothing her cheek against Quinn's satiny blonde hair.

Quinn blinked and frowned as she considered what now seemed to be an obvious answer to her question. "Calling himself… you know, sometimes you make me feel sort of dumb. He kills them because he can't control his urge, his _need_, and then afterwards feels so remorseful for the act that he confesses. Right where it's visible to those trying to stop him." She slid her hand along the brunette's slender arm where it rested along her collarbone. "It could be that he wants us to catch him, even. Like he's begging us to make him stop. Some maladjusted type who goes to church twice on Sunday's to try and repent away what he's done and pray that God will keep him from caving again. What if he's a _priest_? Rachel, you're a genius!"

"I know," Rachel responded primly and pressed a warm kiss against the blonde's ear. "But you're pretty smart too, Agent Fabray – sometimes an outsider's point of view can pick up on things we're too close to see." She slipped her lips lower, kissing under Quinn's ear and then her neck. "Come back to bed, Quinn. It's cold without you, and even super heroes need their sleep."

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><p>They'd been dating just over a month the first time Rachel encountered Quinn cleaning her service pistol. The blonde was meticulous, fingers digging out every last bit of carbon buildup she could find. She was well known for the hours she kept at the indoor range across town - always practicing, perfecting her already deadly accurate skill. To Quinn it was almost an art, and keeping her Glock properly cleaned (gleaming really) was just as soothing as blasting holes through targets.<p>

Rachel was immediately enthralled, dark eyes bright with curiosity as she watched Quinn scrub and scour and wipe away at the deceptive weapon. She knew it was dangerous, had nothing but respect for both it and the woman who wielded it. She also knew it was something more than a tool to Quinn. There was something dancing in the depths of her girlfriends eyes as she held and examined her firearm, blowing gently on it to move some flaky residue free.

She couldn't help but ask if maybe, if she were up to it, Quinn might teach her to shoot it.

Now they were finally there, at the indoor firing range. Rachel trailed after Quinn, deep into the mostly deserted building suffused with the smell of spent ammunition, staring around her in awe. The place was a veritable armory – she'd never seen more weapons in her life, except maybe for that one scene in 'The Matrix'. Through a large window she could see into the dimly lit range and felt a thrill run up her spine.

Quinn, on the other hand, was the picture of charming coolness. She smiled warmly at the men behind the counter, greeting both by name when she purchased their targets and lane. The blonde smothered a grin as she surreptitiously observed Rachel's reaction to the new environment.

Gathering up their eye and ear protection and the standard silhouette targets, she looped a comforting arm around Rachel's shoulders and held open the first set of doors leading into the ranges. She stopped the diva from going through the next set of doors and pointed to the sign on the next door they would go through. 'Only one door open at a time!' it's text shouted at them. Quinn held out a pair of the clear shooting glasses and the earmuff-like 'earpro'.

Rachel frowned, reminded of those hideous things she'd had to wear in science class, but pulled them on anyway before accepting the equally ridiculous and dorky hearing protection.

Stooping, Quinn kissed her girlfriend's cheek, completely enamored with the new look and decided then and there to sneak a picture with her phone at the first available opportunity. Besides the fact that Rachel looked too cute in the over-sized gear _not_ to document it, the blonde figured Rachel's father's would also love the image of their diva Princess firing a pistol.

Once settled into their lane, Quinn removed her firearm from its holster and held it out for Rachel to look at while she attempted to pass on all the information her instructors had given her at the FBI Academy.

"It's a .40 caliber pistol, 13 rounds on a standard mag." She ejected the magazine and showed it to the brunette as well. "It has a 5lb trigger squeeze and it's a little over 31oz loaded. As you fire it will get lighter, which is something you have to be aware of and adjust to as you go. All safeties are internal. It's compact, made of polymer, simple, and double action only – because the hammer is also internal. That just means you have to pull the trigger all the way back for it to fire every time. That's also why the trigger pull is so heavy." Quinn smiled, slammed the magazine home and chambered a round with an ease borne of practice. She wasn't fond of having to use the weapon. No matter the situation, pulling the trigger was the last thing she wanted to do, but it'd be a lie to say she didn't delight in putting rounds on paper. It was soothing and nothing short of empowering. When she turned she found Rachel staring up at her from behind her eye protection, mouth slightly agape. A happy little flutter danced around in her stomach at the amazed look being directed at her, she felt a fresh surge of pride and couldn't hold back a smirk.

"I didn't understand half of that," Rachel admitted as she reached tentatively for the proffered pistol. "But I am so turned on right now."

Shaking her head lightly, Quinn pulled the loaded weapon away from Rachel's grasp. "No. If you're going to take it, _take it_. Don't ever reach for a weapon of any kind like you're afraid of it. Grip it firmly and as confidently as you can. Like you want it." The blonde offered it again. Rachel hesitated, sucked in a deep breath, and calmly snagged the firearm from her hand, never looking at it. Quinn smiled again, reassuring her student to make sure she knew she'd gotten it right, before she stepped around behind her.

"Quinn?"

"Relax. I'm not going anywhere," she promised and gripped the slender shoulders in front of her. She rotated and adjusted Rachel gently, but securely, until the smaller woman was standing somewhat how she wanted. Frowning, Quinn stuck her foot between Rachel's and kicked them further apart. "That's better. Alright, now, hold it correctly with your adorable munchkin hands."

"I object to that comparison, Quinn Fabray!" Rachel barked and stomped her foot in place, but other than that and a sideshot glare she remained rigidly in place.

"Would Oompa Loompa be better?"

"I'm glad you think you're clever. Consider yourself cut-off," the brunette huffed indignantly. Quinn stepped around again and bit her lip as Rachel's face came back into view. Her brown eyes were still very wide, but she was smiling a little with the teasing. She couldn't resist the temptation and quickly kissed the tip of Rachel's nose. The brunette's smile only grew wider at the familiar contact. "I hate when you do that. I'm trying to throw a fit!"

"Imagine all the time we could've saved in Glee club if we'd known kissing your nose was diva-fit kryptonite," Quinn teased.

"Digging a hole," Rachel warned.

Sighing, Quinn settled in closer and took Rachel's hands in her own, pulling them out of their play to refocus on the task literally at hand. She molded the smaller digits and palms around the pistol grip. "Your hand is directly against the grip, you want the space between your thumb and index fingers against the bump here, but not above it because when the slide comes back it'll tear your hand up if you're holding it wrong. Your index finger rests here, along the slide until it's time to shoot, then you'll curl your finger around the trigger." As she spoke she wrapped Rachel's hands around one another, squeezing to make sure she held tightly to the Glock. She stepped back then, behind Rachel again, and gently took hold of her hips, moving them into a 45-degree angle. "This leg back, perfect. Now you're balanced forward, back, and left to right. Feel it?"

Rachel nodded stiffly, still afraid to move, and Quinn smothered her laughter again – she remembered all too well being terrified of moving at all and messing up her body's position.

"It's called 'Weaver', what you're doing. Now you want your shoulders forward." Quinn helped her lean into the correct position and adjusted the diva's arms. "This is just to get your body weight behind the gun. It helps with the recoil. My instructor always said 'Nose over toes, Fabray'. Bend your elbows just slightly, and your knees a little, there you go. Maybe later I'll show you isosceles too."

"Quinn?" Rachel's eyes darted to the side, straining to see the blonde with her peripherals. This time Quinn did chuckle as she moved to where she could be more easily seen. "Is it going to come back really far?"

"You can move your head, Superstar." Quinn giggled as she made more small adjustments to Rachel's fingers. "And no, it's not a Desert Eagle or anything remotely hand-cannonish. The kick is slight."

The smaller woman visibly relaxed at that bit of information. "So now I shoot it?"

"Now you're going to shoot it," she agreed. "You see the two white dots on the rear sight? I upgraded mine, the standard Glock carries a horseshoe type rear site but I find the dot system easier." She pointed out the rear sight posts to Rachel and then tapped her finger on the front sight post. "What you do to aim is put this front dot in the middle of the two back dots. You want to focus on the front dot – that's your point of aim. Get them lined up and tell me when you see it."

"I see it!" Rachel yelped excitedly seconds later. Quinn grinned.

"Okay, so put the dots center mass on the target, right where the middle of his chest would be. Remember that the middle dot is where the bullet goes. Then you're going to smoothly roll the trigger. Go ahead and put your finger in the trigger well and curl it, but don't pull yet!" She watched as Rachel did as asked, a dainty finger surrounding the trigger, lips pressed in a thin line and forehead creased as she focused all her Berry might. "You want an even, uninterrupted pull. Think 'squeeze' or 'roll' the trigger. You don't want to yank or jerk it. When you're ready. Go for it. Just remember: steady position, breathe, aim, and squeeze."

The diva nodded and a heavy silence filled their space as they both waited for the explosion of sound that accompanied the release of a bullet. Quinn could see the tremble in the long muscles of Rachel's arms and bit her lip as she drank in the sight of her girlfriend so deeply focused.

_Turned on is right_, she thought and dug her teeth a little deeper into her soft bottom lip. The muscles tightened under Rachel's tan skin as her trigger finger flexed slowly. Quinn was standing close enough, peering over the brunette's shoulder, that she could feel the ripple of excitement and anticipation move through her girlfriend. Then the gun went off, shattering the silence. Rachel jumped back, only slightly, and Quinn caught her easily, expecting that reaction. She massaged Rachel's shoulders and loudly said, "Again."

Rachel shivered and swallowed so hard it was visible to the agent, so Quinn briefly, but warmly, clasped her girlfriend's elegant wrist and repeated herself.

"Rachel, again."

She fired, again and again and again, growing more sure of herself with each shot. Finally, the slide locked to the rear, indicating the end of the magazine, and Rachel turned to Quinn, eyes alight, broad grin dazzling in the low lighting, and breathing heavily. The blonde looked around the still empty range, just to double check before she bent down to kiss her girlfriend. She recalled the target, chuckling as Rachel bounced on the balls of her feet and clapped as she awaited her target. It clanged to a halt in front of them and Quinn proudly took it down and fussed over the tight groupings clustered in the 'chest' of the silhouette.

"Look at you, Annie Oakley!" She gushed at the exuberant diva.

"I _killed_ him!" Rachel crowed as she traced her fingers over the shredded target and beamed up at the blonde. "Can we do it again?"

Grinning wide enough that it felt like she might crack her face, Quinn merely pulled out a fresh target, attached it to the hanger, and sent it back down the range on the slide. The brunette at her side, boldly now, scooped up the Glock and a fresh magazine.

"Show me how to do that super hot loading thing." She demanded with all her diva flair, coffee colored eyes intently staring at the items in her hands like they were some sort of puzzle.

Nodding her acquiescence, Quinn reached out to demonstrate. "Alright, my tiny Tomb Raider, first…"

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><p>TBC...<p> 


	4. Chapter 4

AN: Thank you so much for the reviews - here's part 4! Enjoy!

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><p>Getting an evening off of work wasn't so much an impossibility as an improbability. It took planning, plotting, and a lot of luck. Not that Quinn had ever had an overabundance of luck anyway. Technically, her work day ended at five pm, like most of the working world. Unlike a vast majority of her fellow nine to fivers, however, she rarely went home when her day was over. She usually spent her evenings working overtime, unable to leave if things were 'unfinished'. Overtime meant a number of things: chasing leads, digging through evidence files and photos, interviewing and questioning witnesses and suspects. Sometimes it meant endless pacing in her office. Even if she wasn't planning on working overtime she was almost inevitably called in anyway.<p>

Especially if she made plans.

She and Ryan often joked about it - that someone upstairs must innately know when the agents had a magical night out scheduled, and then schemed to disrupt it. Normally, Quinn wouldn't complain, even silently, about her work load. It kept her busy, moving, and doing something she found genuinely rewarding. Now though, with Rachel in the picture, it changed everything. She found herself sighing, glaring, and resenting the _hell_ out of her work phone. More and more often she found herself fantasizing about throwing it into a wall or out a window when it interrupted her time with the diminutive diva. She'd even developed a twitch (which Rachel teased her mercilessly for), almost a nervous tic. Swearing up a storm, she'd slap and fumble to find the insistently ringing phone, only to find it completely in her imagination.

'Phone PTSD', Rachel had smugly diagnosed. To her, it was simply karma catching up with Quinn. After all, _she_ still had an irrational fear of open beverage containers.

Quinn had been putting together a way to get an honest to god, real night off work (without phones) with Rachel when her latest case fell in her lap. The press was calling him the 'Jack-o-lantern' killer, and it was Quinn's biggest case to date. It felt like the whole world was watching her on this one - and she was determined to catch him sooner rather than later. With a high profile case came sacrifices. Mostly her time, both awake and sleeping. Taking time off now, with a maniac running loose in the city, murdering families and carving heads like under-ripened pumpkins, just seemed too selfish. So her date night ended up on the back burner, again, while she threw herself, body and soul, into catching this latest bastard.

Then the surprise of all surprises. Her boss, Director Millward, had been calmly awaiting her arrival at work, sitting in her office with a file in his lap. The imposing blond haired man with his crew cut and steely blue eyes, simply looked up at her when she stumbled to a halt just inside the door. He reminded her too much of her father sometimes, and it took her a moment to remember herself and swallow back her fear.

Unlike her father, Joseph Millward was actually a good man, not just pretending to be one. Yes, he was firm with his agents, but distinctly charismatic and even sarcastically playful with them at times. He was the sort of leader they'd all willingly jump off of a cliff for. Like Ryan, he came from a distinguished military background, the kind the bureau looked for, and practically had it printed on him with bold letters. He had been a drill sergeant, and Ryan explained that the military never left you, even if you left it - especially the drill sergeants. Millward wasn't like Major Payne, rather the way he carried himself, the way he spoke, it all projected an unquestionable air of authority.

Quinn, of course, had instantly hated him the moment she met him. In turn, he had sensed her attitude and bristled at it. They'd gone toe to toe, round and round, often and loudly when she'd first transferred to the New York field office. It wasn't until the proverbial light bulb had gone off in her head that she'd realized what her problem was with him. After that the tension between the two had settled and they began to tolerate one another. He _wasn't_ her father. It had taken him rushing in to her rescue for her to wake up and figure it out. They'd bonded over whiskey and bruises - earning him her undying loyalty.

Still, as much as she respected her boss, having him in her office before she'd even had coffee was shocking and instantly had her on her heels.

She nearly fell over when he told her to take the day off.

"Look, Fabray, you're a hard worker and I appreciate the hell out of it. But you've practically been sleeping on your desk for the past six weeks. Don't bother trying to deny it either, I can see through the walls, remember? Take the day off, be a human being. I can't risk losing you because you're so exhausted you fall down the stairs or wreck your car or some other clumsy fiasco. Peterson will take the calls for the night. Turn off your phone and get out of my building. I mean it, I don't want to see you, hear you, or even hear of you until tomorrow - around noon."

By some miracle, it worked out more perfectly than she could have imagined. Now her planned date was spontaneous, for both of them. Rachel had been so stunned when she'd asked that she didn't speak for nearly a full minute.

The only trouble was, she didn't have reservations anywhere, didn't have the diva's favorite flowers, she had nothing prepared at all. Quinn hoped that somehow Rachel had a good time anyway. She felt a bit like bumbling Finn Hudson and his sad but endearing attempts at dates. In the back of her mind she was panicking. She'd known Rachel for quite some time and the other woman loved grand romantic gestures. Things that Quinn would love nothing more than to deliver - if she had time. The candlelight dinners, the sappy live music, all of the above. The woman was a star, a Broadway diva, she'd more than earned and deserved to be treated to all the grandeur.

In fact the more Quinn thought about it the closer she got to needing a paper bag.

"I'm - Rachel, I'm so sorry that I didn't have reservations or anything," Quinn apologized softly, hiding a wince. She glanced sheepishly over at the sleepy, but ultimately pleased looking brunette. "I hope it was at least a step above Breadstix and bowling. It'll be better next time, I promise."

Rachel rolled her head lazily against the cab seat and reached out for Quinn's hand. "You're cute when you panic, but what are you talking about? This was perfect and romantic and sweet. I don't need the fancy restaurant and glam, Quinn. Just you."

The agent smiled, blushed, and kept a watchful eye on the cab driver while she slid over to cuddle up to her girlfriend. Rachel practically purred at the contact and drowsily curled into the warmth offered.

"So you don't mind the fact that I took you to Coney Island like a thirteen year old on a first date?" She questioned incredulously, still unable to let it go despite the assurances.

"Now you're being silly. I loved it, couldn't you tell? It was nice to do something normal for once, to not have to dress up and be _the_ Rachel Berry. Tonight, I got to be just Rachel and that's very rare and special, I don't think you really understand. We got to put away everything else and be Rachel and Quinn, just us, just that, and that's it. Simple. Perfect." She nuzzled against Quinn's shoulder and sighed dreamily. "That's even better than the fanciest of dates. Also, flats instead of heels. Major points awarded."

Mollified, Quinn drooped and settled her cheek against silky dark hair, happily toying with Rachel's fingers as she watched the city around them.

She thought that Rachel had fallen asleep, but as they pulled to a stop outside her apartment building, the resting brunette stirred and lifted her head. The heated gaze she leveled on Quinn instantly had her heart-rate accelerating. "Oh really?" She asked coyly at the unspoken suggestion and lifted a delicately shaped eyebrow.

"Clearly you need further convincing of how much I enjoyed our evening." This time, Rachel really did purr, and smirked at Quinn's smitten expression. "You're doing that pensive lip chew thing."

Gracefully, like the star she was, Rachel stepped out of the cab and left Quinn behind - completely flustered. The blonde blinked a moment before she sucked in a huge breath and a shit-eating grin spread over her features. She paid their fare and hurriedly escaped from the cab, chasing after her diva who was already sauntering towards the building. Enough sway in her hips to be anything but innocent. Quinn caught up easily and wrapped both arms around the smaller woman's middle.

Rachel pulled free of the arms encasing her, turned with a saucy smirk and dragged her gaze up to Quinn's. Then she winked, giggled, tangled their hands together and tugged. They remained sweet and unhurried as they entered the elevator. Quinn smiled dopily as she pressed Rachel back into the corner and dipped to kiss her. The diva pushed back, stretching up on her tiptoes to try and get closer, craving the contact, her hands full of honey blonde hair.

The bell dinged abruptly, and they parted with one last warm kiss. Still, neither of them felt a need to rush, comfortable with the languid pace they'd set. Quinn reclaimed her girlfriends hand and swung it back and forth playfully as they strolled down the hall. Rachel grinned and bumped her hip into the other woman's and whistled a giddy tune.

Quinn's keys hit the floor with a thunk and clink, her hands having automatically dropped them in favor of slender hips when the brunette stepped into her space to fuse their mouths back together. She closed her eyes and allowed herself the pleasure of a moment lost in Rachel's kiss.

"I have to get my keys," she eventually mumbled. A whine of protest was her only response, and the only form of resistance that Rachel offered. Quinn pulled back, keeping her eyes closed because she knew if she saw Rachel they'd end up getting arrested for public indecency, and fumbled on the floor for her keys. Even with her lust-fuzzied brain she managed to swiftly unlock and kick open the door.

Rachel squealed and giggled as Quinn suddenly swooped down and picked her up, carrying her into the dark apartment. They were being goofy, knew it, and didn't give a damn. The blonde lashed out with her foot in a practiced motion, kicking the door shut behind them and set the petite woman back on her feet. She herded Rachel backwards, until her back thumped against the door, then closed in with a wolfish smile. Her palms flattened against the door on either side of Rachel's head but she managed to stop herself, inches away from parted pink lips.

"Hi," she husked warmly, staring down into blown pupils, and rubbed her nose lightly against Rachel's.

"Hello," Rachel whispered back and looked up at her through dark bangs.

Just as Quinn was about to pull that delectable lower lip back between hers a loud rumbling growl interrupted. She pulled back and quirked an eyebrow down at Rachel, who merely rolled her lips together and shook with silent laughter.

"Apparently, my stomach also wishes to extend a greeting."

Quinn's laugh turned to a groan. She bypassed the diva's mouth and let her forehead fall onto a slender shoulder. "Late night snack?"

"Hmm, I had a different sort of 'snack' in mind, but I suppose that'll have to wait. How about I tend to my stomach and you change? Then you can put a movie on while I change and we can... get cozy on the couch?"

Grumbling and sighing as dramatically as she could, Quinn still nodded in agreement with Rachel's plan. The shorter woman closed the small gap between them and tilted her head up for another kiss, which her girlfriend happily gave.

"I'll be fast," Quinn growled. She kissed her again and pried herself away, walking off down the hall towards the bedroom. The blonde grinned and lightly ran her fingertips over her lips, shuddering at the ticklish sensation. She hummed to herself and dug around the dresser for the sleep wear that she had every intention of taking off again as soon as possible. As she popped the button on her jeans and pulled at the zipper she happened to see her work phone sitting on the nightstand out of the corner of her eye. Her good mood vanished while guilt threatened to smother her. Poor Ryan had been on call all night so she could have her fun. What if they'd had a break in the case?

The internal question opened the floodgates and she started to go over the few things they thought they knew about 'Jack'. It wasn't much. He didn't leave them much to work with. Candles, the marks left behind from the tool he used to cut, and of course 'sinner'. Always, over and over.

But why was he sinning? What could possibly compel a human being to slaughter entire families and turn them into gory mockeries of Halloween decorations? He wasn't stupid, he wasn't crazy, not in the traditional sense. Quinn couldn't figure him out. She wanted to so bad, but he remained a twisted mystery. Like the boogeyman, taunting her from the safety of a dark closet, waiting for the lights to turn off for his chance to strike again. Never letting her sleep.

Unable to deny her curiosity and sense of duty she did her pants back up and shuffled over to snatch up the phone. Glancing to make sure that Rachel wasn't coming after her to see what was taking so long she waited for the screen to light up and scold her for leaving it off so long. Sure enough, she had messages waiting for her. Quinn forgot she was supposed to be changing as she lifted the phone to her ear.

In the kitchen, Rachel was shaking her head fondly as she surveyed the inside of the refrigerator. The second shelf was completely hers and the sight of it warmed her. She lifted an eyebrow as she noted the large bag of deli meat sitting front and center on 'Quinn's' shelf and tsked to herself. All she could do was roll her eyes as she saw that it was ham. Quinn's obsession with pork product was disgusting and yet amusing at the same time, she'd given up just about every other meat, but pork had a magical hold on her that Rachel flat out didn't understand. Then again, Quinn's look of horror when Rachel explained chickenless chicken nuggets clearly said that the blonde didn't understand her either.

Snickering now, Rachel reached in and pulled out the hummus and carrots, it would satisfy her stomach – but she also pulled out the honey ham and other ingredients needed to make Quinn a sandwich.

She jumped when a knock sounded at the door and frowned as she looked at the clock on the stove. It was a little late for most people to be knocking on doors, Rachel hoped it wasn't Ryan. Not that she didn't like the other agent – she did, a lot, but it was the first time in forever that Quinn had actually had a night without phone calls or files sitting at home waiting for her. She almost wanted to stomp her foot as she glared at the door.

Hearing no motion from down the hall she rolled her eyes and realized it was up to her to deal with the intrusion on their night. But she didn't have to be happy about it, nor did she have to be polite to whoever it was disrupting her plans to get her girlfriend naked. Rachel stalked over to the door and stood up on her toes to peer through the peephole. The nameless figure outside the door had a hood up, casting a shadow over their features, and Rachel felt a small knot of unease settle in her stomach. She cleared her throat, "Who is it?"

"FBI," a distinctly male voice called back. He reached into his back pocket, pried loose his wallet and opened it to display his credentials.

Rachel dropped back down and scowled at the door, not sure why everything in her was sounding 'danger!' He had credentials though and if it was one of Quinn's colleagues the blonde would be embarrassed if Rachel were rude to them. So ignoring the warnings her intuition kept tossing at her she went to open the door, changing her mind at the last second to quickly put the chain lock in place so it wouldn't open all the way.

It quieted her fears just a little.

In the bedroom, Quinn heard Ryan's voice in her ear as the message he left her played.

"Quinn! Oh Jesus, Quinn, look I don't know where you are but I hope you get this soon. Q, we found his scummy little hide out and you're all over his serial killer wall of death. You and Rachel, pictures of you two leaving your apartments. He knows where you live. God, I hope you get this while you're still out, we're on our way."

Like it had been scripted, she heard the unmistakable sound of wood splintering and Rachel screaming. The phone fell from her hands and she raced down the hall towards a dark shape towering over a smaller one on the floor. He turned at the heavy sound of her feet and she lowered her shoulder as she barreled into him, sending them both crashing into the nearest wall. She realized that she'd left her gun on the bedside table and the first rush of adrenaline with a stiff chaser of fear slapped against her. The man she was up against was massive, a veritable wall of muscle and fury. There was no way she was going to be able to beat him with muscle.

As if to prove her point he snarled at her, grabbed a handful of hair and shoved her head into the wall. Light exploded behind her eyes as the room spun crazily and heat erupted behind her ears. He did it again and her knees buckled, but he caught her as she slumped and then hurled her deeper into her living room. Her back collided with the heavy glass and wood coffee table and it exploded under her. She felt the shards digging deep into her skin as all the air in her lungs left her in a painful whoosh.

"Rachel get my gun!" she shouted hoarsely, already starting to pick herself back up.

He jerked at the word 'gun' and Quinn forced her weakened body to tackle him again before he could go after Rachel. She was on top of him, far too close. Desperate to put some distance between them, she tried to scramble away, bare feet slipping in blood and glass. A rough hand clamped down around her ankle and dragged her back effortlessly, her chin bounced on the hardwood, and then she was being lifted up, his arm tight around her throat.

Quinn gasped and attempted to escape, her movements sluggish as her oxygen deprived brain went haywire with panic and lack of air. She couldn't do much more than whimper and kick, her feet dangling from the floor. Her hands reached for his arm instinctively and she choked as he tightened his hold. One hand stretched back further, searching for the softer, exposed skin of his face. She found his eyes and clawed, gagging as he grunted and constricted still further. Breathing became impossible and her vision began to blacken at the edges as consciousness began to slip. _You have to fight, Quinn_, she heard and in a last attempt pushed her thumb into a firm yet yielding eyeball. He howled and dropped her, staggering back as she crashed on the floor, immediate pain ripping up from her knees and a burn lighting up her throat and lungs as blessed air rushed back into her.

Exhausted, beaten, she fell forward onto her stomach and begged her body to move. Her shoulder felt like it was on fire and everything was pure agony. She heard her assailant stirring and rolled onto her back with a harsh cry. His face was bleeding and he looked exactly how she'd imagined he would, like a nightmare, as he stalked towards her - the glint of some sort of blade flashing in his hand.

_If you give up and let him kill you, he'll kill Rachel too._

Grunting with exertion ,she found her feet and sloppily stood back up, refusing to be done. She couldn't pull herself to her full height, only stoop as she glared at him, daring him to continue. He didn't wait long, rising to her unspoken challenge by leaping forward.

Her hands grabbed his wrist in an attempt to control the knife, pulling him into her space. They grunted and growled at one another, fighting over the deadly blade. When his hand ended up too close to her mouth she bit down as hard as she could and the weapon hit the floor. It didn't end the threat though. She was winded and quickly running out of her spurt of energy, still wheezing and bleeding heavily from her lacerated back and the cut on her head. He wrapped his hands around her neck and squeezed, using his weight advantage to bully her up against her kitchen island, bowing her back while he pressed down with murderous intent.

This was it.

Rachel came running down the hall, the pistol in her hand. It felt strange, unnatural, now - even though she'd felt completely at home with it the last time she'd held it. Crying and trembling she wailed as she stumbled into the kitchen and saw Quinn. The blonde was feebly slapping at their attacker, face near puce and eyes bulging. The diva lifted her arms, shaking like a new born lamb, and tried to aim like Quinn had shown her. Her finger curled around the trigger but try as she might she couldn't pull. Openly sobbing, she tried again and again but as much as she wanted to couldn't squeeze. "Quinn," she whimpered.

The man jerked at the name, so focused on the prey beneath him that he missed the smaller woman's entrance. His head whipped up and turned to face Rachel, who gasped but still could only barely hold onto the gun, let alone fire it. His grip on Quinn's neck loosened and her head lolled limply.

"Quinn," Rachel cried again, louder this time.

Quinn's eyes didn't want to open, her limbs felt heavy and distant. She heard Rachel's voice breaking over her name and willed just a few more seconds. Life saving, precious seconds. A strangled scream ripped from her abused throat, animalistic, savage. She threw herself against her opponent again, wrapped both her arms and legs around him and yanked as hard as she could. He lost his balance and they crashed back onto the floor together at an awkward angle.

A dull crack sounded and the apartment went deathly still.

"Quinn!

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><p>TBC...<p> 


	5. Chapter 5

Here is the last part! Thank you so much for your reviews, as always they're wonderful - just like all of you :) I hope you enjoy the final part!

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><p>She didn't know how much time had passed, seconds, minutes. With a deep, shuddery breath, awareness returned and she groaned. Her head was swimming and pounding, breathing hurt, and when she tried to open her eyes she found that only one would follow her demand.<p>

Everything in her was crying out, begging for the sweet release of unconsciousness. She'd been injured before, tortured, beaten until she was unrecognizable – but this was different. This time it wasn't just her life that had been on the line, it wasn't duty that had her fighting back the comforting nothingness. Someone else _needed_ her. She could still hear Rachel, somewhere above her. She could and would pass out only after Rachel was okay.

The heavy weight of the dead man on top of her was pressing her shredded back into the unyielding floor, digging glass deeper into soft flesh. Panting and whimpering, she pushed at the body and it barely moved, rolling slightly up and then back onto her, like the laziest ocean wave. Quinn groaned and tried a different tactic, shoving downwards on broad shoulders to slide herself upwards. She grunted with the slow moving effort and had to stop to wheeze every few pushes. She felt skin tear, but the spilt blood was helping her sliding motion. Her stomach twisted, bile rising at the back of her throat with each tug on her skin. There was a gritty sensation all along her spine and the sound of it was louder than the ringing in her ears. With one last herculean shove, she was free and she immediately threw up.

Lightheaded didn't even begin to describe the way she felt when she finished emptying her stomach. Quinn turned as best she could and made eye contact with an incredibly pale, shivering Rachel. The diva looked like a specter, still clutching the Glock with white knuckles sort of pointed at the body on the floor. "I – Qu- Sor – I'm so sorry!"

_Shock_, Quinn thought dizzily and dropped her head to the floor. She couldn't help the rough, gurgled cry as she rotated over onto her hands and knees, keeping her forehead pressed to the relatively cool floor. The relief was fleeting against her burning skin, but it was there and it was so welcome. She lurched to her feet and almost fell over as soon as she got there. Gripping the kitchen island, she slopped her way over to Rachel, who was still trying to talk.

"Rachel, give me the gun," the agent rasped and stretched her hand carefully, slowly, for the weapon.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I couldn't do it," Rachel said, clenching her fists tighter still around the pistol. "Quinn?"

"It's alright sweetheart, just give me the gun, okay? He's not going to hurt either of us," she said soothingly. When her hand was close enough and Rachel finally looked at her she gripped the muzzle and easily pulled her pistol from the brunette's hands. She put it down on the counter and Rachel just stared at her, swaying and shaking. "I need you to do something for me," Quinn told her, blinking hard to keep herself awake. "I need you to be brave for me, baby. Go back to the bedroom, call 911, and I want you to get under a blanket. I really need you to do this for me, it's important."

"I - okay, but you?"

Quinn took her shoulders and turned the diva back towards the hallway. "I'll be fine, just go. Please, I need to know that you're okay."

As soon as the brunette disappeared, she let herself slide back down onto the floor. Utterly exhausted, she moaned quietly and let her head fall back against the island behind her. Her back felt blistered and a sharp pain under her shoulder would not be ignored. She tried to reach back and touch it, to feel whatever it was that was burning so bad. Her questing fingers gently skimmed over her shoulder and she felt something hard protruding. A large shard of glass, wedged deep. Quinn whimpered and tried to grip the piece, only to gasp at the pain her tentative pull caused.

Her hand fell back to the floor, she resigned herself to the feeling and tried to block it out as best as she could. She'd always found that when you accepted pain, made peace with the feeling, it went almost numb. Her one open eye felt heavy, so she closed it, and willed Ryan to show up soon.

"Quinn!"

"Here!" she croaked and snapped that working eye back open, blearily squinting against the moisture that had gathered to see her partner crashing into her apartment.

"Oh Jesus, Quinn," Ryan ran to her and dropped to his knees despite the glass and slicks of blood. "Where's Rachel?"

"In the bedroom," Quinn gurgled back. He slid his hand over her cheek, and looked to the side at the body on her living room floor. "Paramedics?"

"Yeah. Hey! Get the damn paramedics in here!" he shouted over his shoulder at the other agents streaming into her home. "Quinn, you just hold on, we're going to take care of you."

The first tear made it's way free of her tenuous hold and soon she was sobbing, holding tight to Ryan and crying out her hurt. He clutched her gently to his shoulder, afraid to hurt her any further and muttered soft reassurances into her blood streaked hair.

"Rachel, you - please, Rachel needs help," she stuttered.

He nodded, "Don't worry Q, I promise I won't let anything happen to her."

Comforted by his sincere promise - because she knew him and he would never break his word - Quinn let go and fell back into the oblivion that had been calling her name...

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><p>When Quinn opened her eyes again, she was first surprised that they both opened and was then slightly confused as to where she was. She had no sense of time, but as she woke up from her stupor, it became clear that it had been longer than a few minutes. She was on her side, clearly in a hospital bed. There was an IV line in her hand and as she shifted. she felt the itch and stretch of gauze on her back. The urge to scratch at both the IV and the bandages reared it's ugly head and she sighed unhappily.<p>

_God, I fucking hate hospitals_, she grumbled to herself and attempted to twist a little to try and see more. In the background she heard the faint murmurs of the hospital and the steady beep from her heart-rate monitor. Another loathsome thing attached to her, she eyed the device attached to her finger with disdain.

A quiet gasp sounded from somewhere close by, but out of her current range of vision. She tried to turn her head to see where the noise had come from, but couldn't without rolling over. Something told her laying on her back would be a bad idea, so she huffed grumpily and stayed where she was, glaring at the far wall.

"Q?"

Ryan walked to where she could see him and she tried to smile up at him, but it didn't really work. She didn't actually feel much like smiling. "Ryan, wha-?" she rasped, and swallowed hard against the painful feeling in her throat.

"Don't talk, boss, if you can help it. Your throat's pretty beat up." He smiled lopsidedly and stepped closer to tenderly move her hair back behind her ear. "It's good to see you up and glaring already."

Quinn softened her expression, staring at him imploringly and hoping that he might still be able to read her mind, just a little.

"I'll talk to you about it tomorrow, Quinn, when you're feeling a little better. Stronger every day, yeah? I wanted to stick around until you woke up, but I get the feeling it's not me you want to see right now - and I know someone's been sitting vigil here with you that really wants to see you too."

He backed away with one last soft caress to her cheek and she heard him walk away with a whispered goodbye.

Rachel appeared in his place, pale and wide-eyed, dressed in what looked like her 'emergency' sweats that she kept in Ryan's car. The little diva didn't say anything at first, she simply grabbed a nearby chair and slid in as close as possible to the bed. She held a plastic cup and dipped a spoon inside, lifting ice chips and offering them silently.

Grateful beyond words, Quinn opened her mouth to accept the thoughtful gift and moaned at the cool sensation in the fire-pit that was her trachea. She took another spoonful then shook her head when Rachel asked quietly if she wanted another. It wasn't ice chips that she really needed. When she started to reach out to touch Rachel's face, the IV line in her hand halted her stretch before she could make contact. Reluctantly, she returned her hand back to the bed, but her girlfriend hesitantly fixed the problem by slipping her dainty hand under Quinn's fingers. The blonde smiled tiredly and squeezed the slender digits. Her heart stuttered when Rachel started to cry, tears falling quickly down her cheeks. Still, she said nothing, just trembled and gasped while she clutched Quinn's hand just a little tighter.

"Rachel," Quinn said, closing her eyes at the burn but unable to stay mute a second longer.

"I thought you'd _died_," Rachel whimpered. "You - I thought he'd killed you when your head... and then you grabbed him and there was this crack and it happened all over again. You were so still."

Quinn shook her head, heart breaking as she watched Rachel fall apart. "No. 'M here."

"But it was like you weren't. For those agonizing seconds, Quinn, I thought you left me. There was blood everywhere and he hurt you and I couldn't pull the trigger to save you."

Still shaking her head in vehement protest, Quinn tried again to touch the crying woman's face only to growl and eye her IV line when it kept her from giving the comfort she was desperate to deliver. Her mind made up, she reached for the offending thing, prepared to pull it out but Rachel caught her hand in both of hers and leaned in close enough to set it against her cheek. Immediately, the blonde started to rub small circles against the tear streaked skin with her thumb and Rachel turned her face into the palm.

"'S 'kay," she breathed, begging with her eyes for Rachel to believe her. It wasn't her fault, and she wasn't about to let the diva blame herself for it.

Rachel only cried harder, muffling louder sounds with her other hand. "I shouldn't have answered the door."

"Rachel," Quinn tried again. She pulled her hand away from the brunette's face and braced herself on the bed so she could scoot back. Satisfied with her painfully slow movement, she reached out with both arms, beckoning to the smaller woman. Rachel shook her head.

"No. You're hurt, Quinn, and it's against hospital policy."

Annoyed at the rebuff simply because of 'policy', she snorted. "I have - badge, c'mere." The very idea that someone could keep Rachel away from her made her bristle. She was the patient, and an adult, and right now, the only thing she wanted was Rachel in her arms. Nobody was ever going to take that away from her. Doctors, murderers, Finn Hudson, anyone. Not as long as she was still breathing.

Rachel stared at her and quickly glanced around the room like she expected a nurse to come in and chastise them for the very suggestion.

"Rach, c'mere," she repeated, adamant that this happen. They both needed it to happen, hospital hall monitors and rules be damned. "Please."

Quinn's eyebrows furrowed as Rachel jumped up from her seat and walked away, leaving her entirely perplexed. She was _leaving_? Then she heard the door close and she smiled to herself, knowing she'd won and also, charmed by her diva's attempts at covert cuddling. Rachel returned swiftly to her side, biting into her lip almost shyly.

The agent merely swept back the light blanket in invitation and waited. She didn't have to wait long before the small woman was carefully crawling in next to her. Immediately, she grabbed her and pulled her in, trying not to hiss as a sharp pang in her chest protested the warm pressure of Rachel's body against it.

"How bad?"

"Three broken ribs, a concussion, a head contusion, stitches, a transfusion, and your back..." Rachel trailed off with a shudder, so Quinn tried valiantly to pull her nearer. She would do anything in the world, pain or not, to prove to Rachel that she was okay. Alive and breathing and _okay_. Tears were still trailing down the brunette's face, trickling down to soak against Quinn's skin. Rachel kissed the dark bruise across Quinn's neck and fisted the blondes hospital gown. "They pulled a lot of glass out of your back. A big one was under your shoulder."

Closing her eyes and taking in a deep breath, Quinn nodded. She kissed Rachel's head and smoothed her hand along the diva's spine. Up and down, over and over in a pattern she knew would work to soothe her.

"I'm sorry," Rachel said, twisting in the loose embrace to duck her head against Quinn's chest so she could hear her heartbeat for herself.

"No," Quinn grumbled and set her other hand into motion, palming the back of Rachel's head and stroking over the silky ink-colored hair. "No. Badguy's fault."

"I'm glad he's dead," the diva whispered. "Does that make me a bad person?"

"No." Again she shook her head, then settled her forehead against the top of Rachel's. "Never."

A long silence enveloped them, filled with nothing more than calming touches and hushed reassurances.

Against the gravel of her abused throat, Quinn started to hum lowly. Rachel's gasps quieted, turning into sniffles as she started to listen to the rhythm the blonde was roughly humming above her.

"What song is that?"

"Guardian Angel," Quinn husked and kept on humming until her throat finally closed.

"It's pretty," Rachel commented.

"Sing it later," she promised.

"You should sleep, baby."

"Stay?"

"Always."

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><p>END<p>

"Your Guardian Angel" - The Red Jumpsuit Apparatus

AN: I realized (belatedly) that there's some confusion as to what happened to the villain. Rachel didn't shoot him - Quinn broke his neck in the fall. That sounds far-fetched, I know, but it's very possible. It's disturbingly easy to do, on accident or on purpose. Human's are such fragile creatures. All you need is force and the right (or wrong) leverage.

And that's what happened.


End file.
